


Friends In Mysterious Places

by NotRyanRoss



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Gerard Way and the Hormones, Music RPF, My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Depression, Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trans Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRyanRoss/pseuds/NotRyanRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When soulmates don't work the way they're supposed to, what happens? ((Small collection, accepting requests, adding bands as chapters are done))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Day In A Million

"Why hasn't Gerard gone to find his soulmate yet?"

They were in said brother's room at the time, playing Halo (Gerard was at work) when the question slipped out. Most people were in the address books immediately on their eighteenth, going after their so-called one and only. Mikey looked vaguely amused by Frank's question, kicking back in his seat. "Apparently they're too young and he doesn't want to corrupt them or something," he answered.

Frank snorted.

Mikey nodded agreeably. "Exactly. Thank you for your input, Francine."

Frank flinched.

This was where it got awkward for him. It wasn't like Mikey treated him like a girl, and he never really said anything about Frank's refusal to wear skirts or makeup or his baggy sweaters. Probably because he didn't know Frank wore them to hide what was visible of his compact chest.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Mikey. Mikey had been his best friend for years, seen him trashed and high and with terrible dreadlocks. It was just hard, really fucking hard to explain to someone that you weren't actually a girl after all, that you were a boy and please call me Frank and use male pronouns but don't treat me any different or I'll be mildly offended.

Such was his life.

And he couldn't even get a job to pay for a couple of binders.

Frank let out a sigh and rolled over, onto Mikey's stomach. The older boy didn't really react beyond petting Frank's messy locks lazily.

_One day,_ Frank promised himself. 

Sometimes Frank would forget he wasn't  _Frank,_ that he was supposed to be Francine Iero, that girl with the attitude and the music obsession who had a pot giggle. He'd walk into the basement of the Way household, plonk himself down on the bed with a joint and complain about feminine deoderant, or the standards he was forced to live by. (The conversation about why he had to shave his legs was the one that nearly outed him, before he made a weak joke about furry leggings being in fashion this year.)

Gerard, ever the enigmatic one, didn't question a thing Frank did, even when he slipped up. Whether it was because he was drunk or high or just not listening, Frank was kind of grateful. When Mikey was out Gerard would just quietly let him in the house, put on an episode of Star Trek and sketch idly while Frank offered suggestions about the zombies outfits or something.

They got along rather well, which was always nice because Frank didn't have many friends because he was kind of an asshole. Also when guys mentioned him being on his period there was usually a fight, but with Gerard there was nothing, he just kind of. Sat there.

Frank felt more like a boy in those moments than he had in his whole life.

Mind you, it didn't stop him from staring at Gerard's ass unashamedly. 

To be honest, Gerard didn't even notice when his soulmark first appeared.

His birthday was pretty much the same as it had been for every year he'd had at high school. He'd been sprawled half-naked and completely trashed when Bert had let out a chuckle and prodded his chest.

"Happy birthday, you gay fuck," he had said, getting up to go get more vodka or something.

And Gerard was stuck squinting down at the scrawled, nearly illegible letters over his heart, until he could make out the familiar writing and the capital 'I' and the 'e' and-

Well, fuck. 

"What kind of a chick do you think your soulmate's gonna be?"

"Stop assuming I'm a fucking lesbian," Frank replied absently from where he was watching Gerard paint, chin hooked over his shoulder.

"Fine. What do you think your person's gonna be like?"

"Tolerant."

"They'd have to be, to put up with you."

He heard Mikey shuffle around and then the loading scene for a random slasher fic started. He didn't really look back, completely unconcerned about his coming out, which was kind  of ironic considering. But hey, at least two thirds of the company here were at least bisexual. Gerard glanced back at him for a split second, offering a smile.

"What'cha think?" He gestured to the canvas.

"Needs something...here," Frank pointed to a specific spot on the bottom left.

Gerard positively  _beamed._  "That's what I was thinking!" 

When Mikey got his soulmark it was both exhilarating and disappointing for both of them.

Frank had been told her name was Alicia, and she had small writing that was at least legible. She looked kind of intimidating in that confident way some women had, and Frank was a little apprehensive. However, she lived a few towns over so they didn't see each other as much. Frank wouldn't say he was jealous, exactly, just that he was a little worried he was going to come second. He was happy for Mikey,  _really,_ but it made a weird feeling in his stomach when he saw Mikey on his phone.

"You're still my girl," Mikey said to him once, and all Frank could offer was a weak little smile as he snuck down to the basement to steal Gerard's comics.

And he still hadn't come out.

"Dude. Dude. Dude."

Frank groaned and rolled away, curling into a ball. His head was throbbing like he'd ingested a litre of whiskey- which was entirely plausible- and everything smelt kind of like an armpit.

"Happy birthday, asshole," Mikey chirped at him, and Frank realised exactly why everything smelt like B.O.   
"Ugh, you disgusting fuck, take a shower," he groaned, rolling over and burying his face in a pillow. He wasn't really awake yet, there was still time to sink back into that warm blanket of sleep-

"Happy birthday," Gerard said, voice soft and by his ear and Frank let out a squawk and flinched back into Mikey's chest. Mikey grunted and pushed him back in Gerard's general direction, rolling off the bed.

"We gotta go find a person with Francine Anne Iero on their chest now, hooray. Quest time. Put on your cosplay armor, Gee," Mikey said as he stumbled off in the direction of either the coffeemaker or the toilet.

And that was what broke him.

He hadn't really thought about his soulmate until now, but. Was he going to have to spend his life with someone who's heart reminded him that he wasn't a 'real' man?

"Oh God," Frank whispered, the words sounding as distraught as he felt. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

"Hey," Gerard said from behind him, voice soft as he wound an arm around Frank's waist. He didn't even go near his chest or crotch, not even jokingly, just comfortingly pulling Frank into a hug, warm breath puffing on the back of his neck.

Frank sort of broke apart at that, a hot rush of tears filling his eyes. It really hit him, in that moment, that this whole soulmate thing was never going to be okay for him. He'd never be able to look at them, knowing they had the wrong name, that their soulmate was Francine Iero, not Frank, never Frank.

He was going to be alone in a world where no one was alone.

A sob escaped him before he could stop it, strangled and choking.

"Shh, shh," Gerard mumbled into his hair, petting his stomach softly as he cried against the pillow. God, he was a fucking mess. He was vaguely certain he was soaking the cloth but didn't really care at this point. "It's okay, it's okay. Breathe, okay?"

Frank hiccuped a breath and sniffed. Before he could say anything (he was leaving snot and tears  _everywhere,_ what the fuck) Gerard pressed the sleeve of his hoodie against Frank's nose.

"Blow," he said gently and Frank snuffled against the cloth, wiping his nose.

Gerard let out a huff of breath against his hair. "What's wrong? It's your birthday, isn't that a happy thing?"

"No," Frank choked out.

Gerard was still stroking his stomach gently, and as upset as Frank was, it was still comforting as hell. But his chest still kind of burnt from the soulmark he couldn't bear to look at, and it hurt. "I'm not a fucking girl, Gerard, and someone's out there with goddamn  _Francine_ over their heart."

Gerard was silent.

Frank's heart stopped beating. "Shit, I'm stupid, sorry, I'll leave, you can just forget I said anything-"

As he was sitting up to escape, to  _get the hell outta dodge before he got his ass kicked_ , Gerard let go of him obediently but circled his fingers around Frank's wrist gently. Frank glanced down at him and their eyes met for a split second before he was yanking away his hand like it was on fire and running up the stairs.

Mikey took one look at his teary, frightened face and got out a vaguely worried "what-" before Frank was out the front door and away.

He didn't leave his room for a week.

His mother was out on vacation with her new boyfriend, leaving him with an entire house to mope in. Even so, he just curled up in the music room around an old acoustic and played sad songs while half-crying.

Mikey had called him consistently for days, even going so far as to find the number for the house phone and call that, but Frank ignored it all. Sure, he'd have to face it eventually, but Gerard had probably told him, said something like _yeah, Francine's on the rag, don't worry about her_ or something equally dismissive.

Even worse, he might have told the truth.

Frank played a few chords from a song he couldn't remember the name of, slowly rocking back and forth. He hadn't really slept at all, sort of drifting off in a haze on the floor sometimes. At least it was the fall holidays, and he had a week to start acting like a 'presentable lady' again.

He let out a sigh against the smooth surface of the guitar, and that was when the doorbell rang.

Frank let out a large huff, setting the Gibson down on its stand and making his way downstairs to answer the door. His parents had probably ordered some kind of ridiculous gift overseas and had forgotten about it.

"Yeah, what is i-"

Frank froze. That wasn't the postman.

There Gerard Way stood, platinum hair sticking up around his ears, sort of jumping up and down on the step. His leather jacket had the collar half-flipped, and his shirt looked like it had something spilt down the front. He looked like he'd been given an IV full of RedBull, twitching slightly.

"Hey," he said, voice normal, like someone would ask about the weather. "Can I come in?"

Frank was too shocked to do anything as Gerard stepped past him, footsteps going in the direction of the kitchen. He stared out the open door for a few minutes, before collecting himself and shutting it. He could smell the scent of coffe and hear Gerard putting about in the cabinets.

When he walked into the kitchen, Gerard just gave him a lopsided smile and went, "Where do you keep the soy milk?"

Frank pointed, and Gerard went over, filling two cups of coffee before setting one in front of him and sitting on the counter.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Gerard," he managed to get out.

Gerard sighed.

Frank was kind of angry now, and pushed the coffee cup aside and advanced on Gerard. Unfortunately for him, Gerard was already moving, sliding off the counter to pull him closer, until he could smell the scent of cigarettes and coffee.

"What the f-" was all he got out before Gerard's lips pressed against his softly. Frank didn't move, didn't react in any way, but Gerard just kissed him again, soft, before breaking it off and tipping their foreheads together. It was admittedly kind of amazing this was even happening, but.

Frank just gave him the most confused look.

Gerard deflated visibly and he felt almost guilty. "You- you don't, I thought," he started.

"You thought what." Thought he'd take pity on the poor trans boy? And Frank's anger was back again.

"I'm sorry, I thought- Frank, I thought you were-"

"Get out of here, Gerard," he said flatly. He didn't need the pity. Just because his soulmate was like thirteen or something didn't mean he could do things like that.

Gerard looked lost. "Okay," he replied, voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. I won't- I'll leave you alone from now on."

Frank just watched as he left, confused and hurt and empty inside.

He didn't answer the doorbell when it rang the next day, but Mikey got in nonetheless.

"You fucking piece of shit," Mikey seethed.

Frank nearly fell off the stool he was on, staring at the younger Way brother with trepidation. He was standing in the doorway, in sweatpants and a baggy Anthrax t-shirt, and his hair was sticking up- were those leaves? He looked mad, but it was ruined a little by the panting breaths he was sucking in.

"How did you-"

Mikey didn't let him finish the question. "Window. Now, explain  _why_  you flat-out rejected my brother when all he wants is to look after you."

"...he just feels sorry for me."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it? He could be out, finding his fucking  _damsel in distress,_ but he's wasting his time with me. What about his  _soulmate_?!"

Mikey froze. "Oh," he said.

Frank frowned at him, clutching the guitar close like it would protect him from the skinny Way brother's wrath. Although, Mikey didn't look angry anymore. Just kind of...well, it was hard to tell with him. Frank watched apprehensively as he made his way over and knelt down beside him.

"You're an idiot," Mikey said flatly, tugging the neck of Frank's shirt down.

Frank was too surprised by the sudden movement, by the slipping of the cloth over his chest, that he looked down for the first time since his eighteenth birthday.

And there it was.

_Gerard Way._

_"_ Oh," was all Frank could say.

"Come on," Mikey instructed, unfazed as ever. "I'll drop you off at mine. I'm gonna go see Alicia anyway."

Frank stared.

"Oh, and here," Mikey tossed a small pile of cloth on his lap. "You forgot your birthday present."

Frank stared. "You bought me a binder?"

"You're not as subtle as you think, Iero. It's custom made, so I know it fits. Put it on and let's go."

When they got there, Mikey practically shoved him out of the beaten car and drove off, leaving Frank standing on the dirt path watching him go. What was he supposed to even say? Gerard had known all along that they were apparently destined to be together, and he still hadn't said anything.

He turned with a loud, self-suffering sigh and made his way to the door. It was unlocked, hanging open a little, and Frank huffed at the carelessness before making his way inside.

The house was cool, nice, but silent. The lack of cars in the garage indicated that Gerard was probably the only one home, probably in the basement. A muffled crash and a curse floated up from the stairs, and Frank stifled the urge to laugh.  Rather than two left feet, Gerard happened to have two left everything.

He stood at the first step, staring down into the dim light with apprehension. What was he even going to  _say_? 'Hey man, sorry I kicked you out after you kissed your soulmate also I'm a boy ha ha ha.' He buried his face in his hands. _God, I'm an asshole. How do I even have a soulmate?_ Although, it made sense.

He took in a breath to steady himself, and stepped down. 

Gerard was settled against the headboard of his bed, the loud scribbling of his bed indicating he was drawing. He was curled up in a small ball of black hoodie and messy hair, and his eyes were unfocused behind the glasses perched on his nose.

He was kind of beautiful, Frank thought absently.

Gerard's gaze flickered up and landed on him and the surprise in his face was like a punch in the gut. It was like he'd never expected to see Frank again, and yet.

"Gee, I'm so sorry," he started.

Gerard tilted his head to the side like he didn't quite expect him to be real, and then he was up, sketchbook falling to the bed and glasses pushed up into his hair and messing it up even further. He tripped about thirty centimeters from Frank, and would've fallen and broken his nose had it not been for the other boy attempting to catch him and falling as well, cushioning it. They collapsed on top of a pile of socks, Frank letting out an oof.

Gerard giggled and stayed on top of him, pressing their foreheads together gently. "Finish your speech," he prompted Frank, who sighed.

"I'm sorry. I-I feel like, like I'm not good enough, with all of this shit-" he tugged across his shirt to reveal the strap of his binder. "And I can't  _stand_ that, that I'm not a real boy-"

Gerard frowned, and Frank could taste his breath, cigarettes and coffee and _safe_. "I need to show you something," he said gently, sitting up. Frank just stared cautiously from the floor as chewed fingernails skimmed the hem of his hoodie and he pulled it off.

Frank stared.

"It...it says," he started.

Gerard gave him the ghost of a smile. "The handwriting is so bad, I wasn't sure at first," he said. "But I knew."

Frank lifted his hand, tracing fingers over the 'f', the 'r.'

"It says Frank Iero," Frank mumbled, the words barely audible.

"Yep," Gerard gave him a proud smile.

"...Frank Iero," he repeated.

"Mhm," the agreement was barely audible, a gentle vibration against his lips, and Frank gave in to the kiss this time, letting it sweep him away. Gerard's lips were chapped and dry, but so unbelievably soft as they moved against his.  _God,_ it felt good.

"Frank Iero," he said against Gerard's lips giddily.

"My boyfriend Frank Iero," Gerard murmured back.

"That's me," he replied.

And he was, for the first time ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick Stump did not want a soulmate.

Like, at all.

Not even a little eensy weensy bit.

Most people would assume he was doing that tragic romantic cliche thing where he thinks he doesn't _deserve_ someone to love, but Patrick Stump just did not want to love someone and then have them expect sex. Because sex was a thing you did with your soulmate, right? Sex was how you displayed your love or whatever. Kinky sex. Normal sex. Loving sex. Reproduction sex. Sex of all colours and flavours, not all of them artificial and all of them things Patrick wouldn't be doing, ever.

Patrick Stump didn't do sex.

Patrick Stump was, regrettably, asexual.

Which was unfortunate, because what was an asexual person to do in a world where everyone had said sex with soulmate?

"Patrick! You gonna come out of the music room and come for ice cream?"

"No," Patrick answered grumpily, plucking a few strings on his guitar and ignoring Pete as he squinted at the acoustic. The G string was making an odd noise, and neither he nor his band friends could figure out what was doing it. Although, it was just the two of them right now- they were supposed to be writing and playing a song for the assembly, but it wasn't going so well. Patrick really wasn't concentrating anyway.

The person across from him- their name started with an f, he'd forgotten yet again- shrugged at him, played the G string of their own when Patrick motioned for them to do it. They leaned over their acoustic comfortably. "You should probably go. Ice cream's good shit. You know, if I wasn't vegan. Sorbet?"

"But we had the chord progression nearly figured out," Patrick argued.

"We really didn't. We need Toro," they answered.

Patrick glared.

They shrugged, hands raising up in the air helplessly before Mikey Way's older brother poked his head in the room, accidentally knocking Pete into the space beyond the doorway as well. Which was bad, because Pete wasn't allowed in the music room after a brief stint with the drumset. The guy (Gerard, Gee, something like that) made his way over to them, pressing a gentle kiss to his bandmate's mess of dark hair before smiling at Patrick in turn. Gerard showed up more often than most students, despite having graduated years ago. His soulmate beamed up at him and got another kiss in return, this one on their nose.

And fuck, did they have to be so- so goddamn _happy_? They were probably having sex every second day. Nice, normal romantic sex. Because they loved each other and they were soulmates. It was all Patrick could think about, it was literally taking over his brain and brainwashing him. Sex, soulmates. Soulmates, sex. Sexmates? Soul sex?

Fucking assholes.

Literally. _Fucking_ assholes.

And Jesus wept, Patrick had been hanging around Gabe Saporta too much recently to be thinking about that now. He needed to sit with Andy more often, learn about earwigs and why he was a bad human being for eating meat and ice-cream. It'd be better than all the innuendo, all the sex talk.

"Hey Patrick," Gerard greeted him. "Are you and Frankie getting anywhere on that song for the school?"

_Frankie. Frank?_ That must be it.

"He keeps changing it because he doesn't like the lyrics," Frank answered for Patrick.

"It doesn't sound right, it's-"

A soft weight settled on Patrick's lap, thighs bracketing his hips as his guitar was removed from him by hands with painstakingly neat painted black nails. He automatically settled Pete so he was safer and scowled up at the older boy, getting a cheerful look in response. His heart dropped a little, looking up at how _pretty_ Pete actually was. Jesus Christ. But that was besides the point, after all. He was pretty, but untouchable, especially with all his lamenting over soulmates.

"Hey," Pete said softly.

"Hi."

It would have been a moment if it wasn't _them_.

It was weird, because by all records Pete should have gone to find his soulmate. Joe asked him about it once and Pete had just tapped his finger to his lips and smiled knowingly. Maybe his soulmate was Joe, that'd be funny. Except no, Joe and Andy had gotten together a few months ago. Patrick's next guess would have been Mikey Way, but he had a girl upstate. His third guess was tentatively Gabe Saporta- an immediate no, Gabe had something weird going on with Nate, Victoria, Ryland _and_ Alex, and Pete wouldn't go for that, he didn't think. Pete was like a one-master pet dog.

So who the hell was Pete's soulmate? Bill Beckett? Ryan Ross? It'd have to be someone younger than him or he would've acted; there were unspoken rules about waiting until your soulmate got their mark too.

Patrick didn't _like_ the idea of someone else having Pete.

"Hey, pay attention to me," Pete ordered, pressing their foreheads together. He was warm and his breath smelled like Doritos. It made Patrick's stomach tingle. Patrick tried to squirm away, making a face.

"I don't want to."

"Too bad, Tricky Trick," Pete singsonged, "come for ice-cream, _please_. I'll pay."

Of course he'd give in, he couldn't say no because it was _Pete_. "Fine, whatever. Now get off me."

Pete accepted the surrender with a cheerful whoop that made him overbalance and nearly fall to the floor, saved only by Patrick's arm catching him around the waist. He may be a nuisance, but he was still Patrick's best friend and a concussion was likely a bad thing. They stayed like that for a frozen minute before Pete wriggled and fell to the ground anyway. Whoops.

"It's your birthday in three days, anyway," Pete said cheerfully, unfazed by his fall.

"Fuck," Patrick said out loud. His birthday. Soulmate. Unwanted tattooing by whatever was up there in the sky.

But he followed Pete anyway, making sure Frank was going to write down the ideas they'd had up on the whiteboard before he was dragged away (albeit not unwillingly) by Pete. 

"Frank, you and Gerard..."

"Mm?" Frank looked up at him, raising one eyebrow as he tuned the Gibson in his hands deftly. Mm, that sounded nice. One thing he bonded over with everyone in the music program was their instruments. "Me and Gerard? Gerard and I?"

Patrick sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Do you guys...ugh."

It had taken enough courage to even mention it at all, but Patrick honestly didn't know where to go with this whole situation. How do you explain that you're asexual? Being gay was one thing- this was an entirely different ball game. There was someone out there who was going to have to spend their whole life abstinent; it wasn't fair. And now Frank was looking at him interestedly, those bright eyes staring at him intently. Patrick felt like a bug being studied under a microscope.

"Do you...what if you aren't...like," fuck, this was _hard_ , "what if you're missing something _important_ and your soulmate is going to be miserable with you?"

Frank furrowed his brow, looking wary for a second. "I don't get it. Example?"

"I don't know, like, what if your soulmate was straight and you were gay or something?"

Frank's gaze cleared a little. "They...wouldn't be your soulmate if they weren't happy, right?"

There was something a little hesitant, a barely noticeable vein of worry in his voice and Patrick frowned. Was there something wrong in their relationship? Was Gerard like, moonlighting as a woman or something and Frank didn't approve? Because that would be a little weird. They'd seemed pretty happy.

"That doesn't happen," Pete said firmly, and Patrick had forgotten he was even here. He was lying comfortably on the couch next to Patrick, fringe brushing his denim-clad thigh. He was kind of soft-looking and comfortable, and Patrick couldn't resist petting him, which Pete leaned into with a purr. See, why couldn't he just have this? Why not have a Pete?

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they wouldn't be your soulmate if they were _wrong_ for you," Pete said reasonably, dark eyes opening sleepily and almost piercing through Patrick with one look.

Patrick swallowed.

"I..." That made sense, of course it did, but. Clearly his analogy hadn't been good enough, because he still didn't have the answer as to how to broach the subject of asexuality to his soulmate in two days. Hey, maybe they'd be younger and he could just avoid it all. Maybe he was broken and no one was his soulmate anyway, that'd be a joke.

Patrick let out a heavy sigh and Pete sat up, patted his cheek gently and pressed a kiss to it afterwards. "Don't know why you're worried about all of this, you're perfect," Pete commented, patting down a stray lock of strawberry blond and not paying attention to the fact they was close enough to kiss. Pete was just a touchy-feely person, he guessed. "The perfect-est."

Patrick wished he was right. 

"Maybe you should get someone from literature to write the lyrics. They're good with that kind of stuff, aren't they?"

Patrick groaned and smushed his face against the desk harder. Maybe if he wished hard enough he'd become the desk.

"What does Pete write? He's in lit," Frank offered.

"Pete Wentz? _He's_ the guy with the fringe?" Gerard looked up from where he was drawing in the corner. "He's like, famous online."

"What for? Most cliche illegal tattoo? Coercing Patrick out of work?"

"Nah," Gerard answered. "He writes. It's really good, actually. Poetry."

"Poetry is lyrics," Frank said hopefully.

_Pete writes poetry?_

Patrick looked over as Frank yanked a laptop seemingly from nowhere and set it on the desk. He tapped it a few times and it sputtered to life, and he motioned to Gerard to come over. The platinum-haired man huffed and approached, typing in something and getting charcoal all over the keys. Frank scowled and in turn got a smear of charcoal up on one cheekbone, so he launched himself at Gerard, both of them crashing to the ground in a fit of giggles. Patrick scowled.

Patrick took their art supply battle as an opportunity to snag the unlocked laptop and read some of what was apparently Pete's famous poetry. Come to think of it, Pete was always writing, he just never showed Patrick. Why was that?

_'I have already given up on myself twice,_   
_But the third time is the charm,_   
_Third time is the charm._   
_Threw caution to the wind,_   
_But I've got a lousy arm,_   
_And I've traced your shadows on the wall-_   
_Now I kiss them whenever I'm down,'_

"Shit," Patrick breathed.

Because this was obviously for his soulmate, and something in Patrick's chest fell out and broke on the ground. He stared quietly at the words on the screen, absolutely speechless. He didn't even look at the rest of the poem, couldn't, wouldn't, because Pete Wentz was so in love it was painful.

Patrick closed the laptop.

"Where's Pete?"

"Who cares," Patrick grumbled, sitting next to Frank.

If he sat behind the guy with the big afro, Pete might not see him. Not that he'd come in here anyway; they always met up outside Patrick's locker. No one would come looking for him in the science room with afro guy, Frank and Mikey. No one would expect him to hide out here, and that was why he was quite happy here.

"Are you... _avoiding_ Pete?"

"No," Patrick grumbled at Mikey, who raised an eyebrow coolly.

"Stop that," he added a few seconds later.

Mikey didn't stop that thing he was doing with his face.

Afro guy got up to go somewhere and Patrick frowned at Mikey, whose lips curled upwards just barely. It was probably a full-on beaming grin for him, who knew. Mikey Way was an enigma. And a little too perceptive for his own good, Patrick thought dismally as Mikey's long fingers linked together and he tilted his head at Patrick.

"Why're you avoiding Pete?"

Patrick groaned and hid his face in his arms. Frank patted his shoulder absently, not being comforting in the slightest. There was a long silence, in which Patrick realised Mikey wasn't going to budge.

"I just...ugh."

"..."

"I can't have a soulmate," Patrick said helplessly.

There was a moment of silence, and when Patrick dared to peek out from his arms Mikey was still looking at him with that searching expression. It didn't communicate any negativity, or at least it didn't look like it, so Patrick straightened slightly.

"Why not?'

Of course Mikey wouldn't be weirded out by that confession. Patrick wouldn't have thought he'd be even a little interested, but there was a spark of something unreadable in his eyes. Frank was just sitting there quietly, not saying anything. 

"I...a relationship with me won't work out."

Mikey leaned forward, settled on those ridiculously pointy elbows and raised one eyebrow. "Is this like, a 'oh no anyone who dates me is doomed' thing?"

"I wish it was," Patrick replied.

"So...there's some kind of problem, with you."

"Do you have cancer? Heart failure? _Stigmata_?"

"You have no filter, do you, Frank. And that was a movie," Mikey said, and Frank looked slightly embarrassed.

"It's not a terminal disease," Patrick said hurriedly.

"Then what's got you all messed up about this?"

He didn't think about saying it out loud, didn't even consider it before it slipped past his lips and burst free into the world.

"I'm asexual," Patrick whispered.

Mikey laughed.

Patrick went bright red with indignation, but also embarrassment because of course it was funny, he was all fucked up. He chanced a look at Frank, who just looked kind of confused. Heck, he probably didn't even know what asexuality was. Mikey, on the other hand, his reaction was just baffling.

"Why is this a deal breaker, exactly?"

Patrick scowled at Mikey. "Because...it's- what if they want to have _sex_? Be in love and all that?"

Mikey let out another uncharacteristic laugh, eyes glinting with amusement. "You don't _have_ to have sex, Patrick Stump."

"Yeah, but-"

"I don't have sex with Gerard," Frank cut in.

"You don't? But, how do you- do you not-"

"I'm just not comfortable and he respects that," Frank said.

"I..."

"Honestly, talk about this to Pete, not us," Mikey commented as he stood, motioning to Frank that they were leaving. "He's your best friend."

Patrick couldn't come up with an argument against that. 

"Hey," Patrick said, barely above a whisper as he stood over Pete's bed. Considering it was late at night and he'd just climbed in through an open window (tips given by Mikey, don't ask) he didn't expect Pete to be awake. But there he was, hair sticking up in weird directions, in boxers and nothing else, looking like he was in another world.

Then his glazed stare landed on Patrick and cleared almost immediately. A smile crossed his face, a smile especially for Patrick.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"C'mere," Pete said, rolling over in his bed so Patrick could kick off his shoes and join him. The minute his back hit the mattress Pete snuggled closer, nose pressing against Patrick's jaw. They let the silence permeate the air for a few comfortable minutes as their heartbeats synched up, and then Pete kissed his neck and spoke in a quiet, gentle tone that was rather uncharacteristic.

"What's up?"

"...why haven't you gone to find your soulmate?"

Pete laughed softly. "I'm happy here."

"Are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw your blog. What- is it someone we know?"

Pete didn't reply. That meant it probably was someone they knew, someone who Pete wasn't supposed to love. _Please, for the love of God, don't let it be Ashlee. She was a bitch._ For some reason, Mikey's reaction to his coming out has softened his worries a little, and Pete...well. Pete was Pete.

"Pete...what if your soulmate didn't have sex? Like, they could physically, but not...mentally?"

"Like...being asexual, you mean?"

Patrick nodded, breathing in the warm smell of Pete's hair. He'd started using that weird shampoo again. He tried to ignore the way Pete's body had tensed against his, he'd probably just pulled a muscle at soccer or something.

"How'd you know?"

"I...uh," Pete sat up, looking a little panicked, a little wild around the eyes. "Fuck, I wasn't going to _tell_ you until tomorrow. Was it Joe? I _knew_ the fucker couldn't keep a secret, I-"

"Wait." What? "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Pete just stared down at him with wide-eyed distress, and Patrick's eyes flickered down to his chest without meaning to, past the cliche thorn ring to the spot over his heart. And he recognised that handwriting, saw it every day when he signed something for paperwork or tried to write lyrics.

"Pete, I-"

"It's okay, we can still have sex, I'll just get over it, we can pretend to, I," Pete babbled. Patrick stuck his hand over his mouth.

"Pete. English."

He removed his hand, something close to an amused relief clambering up his spine to prod at his heart. Pete looked devastated, like someone had run over his dog, like he didn't have _Patrick Stump_ tattooed on his chest.

"I'm asexual," Pete mumbled. "Who told you?"

Patrick swatted Pete over the head. "No one. I was trying to figure out how to tell _you I'm asexual_ , you idiot."

Pete's eyes got wider. "You-"

"Me," Patrick said. "Should've known, Mr 'They're-Not-Your-Soulmate-Unless-You're-The-Same.'"

" _Oh_."

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Are you gonna be in trouble for staying over?"

"It's not like we had sex, I think it'll be fine."

When they woke up together in a tangle of limbs and drool (Pete's) and discarded socks (Patrick's), Pete laughed and tipped their foreheads together. "Look at that," he said proudly, poking the scribbly but fresh _Pete Wentz_ on Patrick's chest. Patrick smiled back, genuine.

"Also, you're helping me write the lyrics for the school song," Patrick said.

Pete laughed. "Sure. You mind if it's about you?"

"Yes," Patrick answered, even though he really didn't. 

"It's good," Frank said giddily, looking down at the sheet.

"Yeah, it is," Pete replied from Patrick's lap.

_I know it's strange,_   
_It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you,_   
_I'm supposed to love you._


End file.
